


He Didn't Even Fit in Her Car

by thecomebackkids99



Series: Olicity Short Stories Series [7]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 1x14, Car Scene, F/M, Missing Scene, Muscles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecomebackkids99/pseuds/thecomebackkids99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity Smoak opened her car door to see Oliver Queen in the back of her car, bleeding out. Now she's driving him to his father's factory building and trying to keep the Hood conscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Didn't Even Fit in Her Car

**Author's Note:**

> C'mon, we've all wondered about the scene in-between where Oliver goes to Felicity's car and when Felicity finds Diggle. So I wrote it awhile ago. Don't worry...The Sound of An Arrow is being worked on right now! :P But I hope everyone enjoys this!

Her boss lay in the back of her car.

 _Correction_.

She had Oliver Queen, the vigilante, the Hood―whatever people wanted to call him―in the back of her car, bleeding out. What on earth did he get himself in to? She wanted to ask him what happened, but given the way he breathed, he wouldn’t be able to answer.

Of course she knew the way to the steel factory. She saw it on the news all the time as the club that Oliver renovated. Typical guy, having their secret lair underneath their hobby town. Did they ever _not_?

“Just hold on for like, five more minutes, okay? I’m driving as fast as I can. Which means I’m going ninety. You should know that I haven’t done this since when I got my license. Which was about eight years ago, if you don’t know how old I am.”

“Felicity…”

“Don’t make me record your last words for you. That’s not happening. I’ve never seen anyone die, and I don’t plan on that happening. So just sit there and be quiet.”

“I…just want…to say―”

“Save it. Don’t start your speech. You can barely talk. Barely breathe.” His breaths came in hiccups now. More like gasps, but it sounded a little better to say hiccups. She glanced back at him, his head pressed against the door, his legs curled up towards his chest. Dear God, couldn’t he have chosen a bigger automobile? It had to hurt to just lay like that.

“Does it hurt? Your injury, I mean? Not the fact that the Hood had to come down to ask for help. Which is not relevant.”

“Fine,” he bit out. She knew he stifled a groan before he said that, because the mirror showed that he brought his hand to his mouth. Probably to, what? bite on it? The only thing she knew about gun shots were the movies she saw. Gun wounds hurt, right? Maybe not for him. He _was_ the vigilante after all.

“You just need to hold on for like…ten more seconds. No, no, don’t you go out on me!” She followed his actions in the mirror. “Oliver, don’t pass out! _Oliver_! Come on, I really don’t want to drive with a passed out guy who wears tight leather pants and eye paint. If I get pulled over, I’m gonna get arrested. And they’ll have to arrest you too. Unconscious and dying, and all. It will be incredibly terrifying and awful, and I don’t want that to happen. Arrest would suck too, because I would have to use most of my paycheck to post bail.”

At the red light, she glanced back him. Definitely unconscious. “And now I have to go back to talking to myself again. It’s not like I don’t do that a lot already.

“In light of the big reveal, I should probably apologize for calling archery ridiculous. It really isn’t, now that I know you do it. Not that you changed my mind, but yeah, you did change my mind.” She pulled her Mini Cooper into the Steel Factory’s meager parking lot. Clearly that hadn’t been fixed up yet.

“Okay, Oliver. I apologize greatly for the bumps and bruises you will have on your back from me dragging you, but I’m assuming you wanted me to bring _inside_ and not leave you in this creepy place. And even though I’m a good five six in these heels, your muscle mass is like three of me.”

She opened the back door, reached her hand to slide under Oliver’s head to brace it. A quick glance at the blood pooling on the ground, on his chest, and all over her seats forced her to cover her mouth with the other hand to keep from vomiting. Blood didn’t make her squeamish – she had a thing called a _period_ every month – but this amount of blood?

_Don’t throw up on your boss, Felicity._

She grabbed his wrists and tugged. He budged an inch or so. “C’mon, Oliver. You can’t be that heavy.” She yanked again, and this time he slid partially out of the car. Letting go of his arms, she eased his legs out of the car. No need for a tailbone injury from hitting the pavement while being dragged around.

As she hauled him towards the door, Felicity stumbled backwards twice, nearly dropping Oliver’s arms and therefore his head in the process. “You can do this. Just a little…further!” And then she’d have to bring him up stairs.

Her arms gave out halfway up them, and she touched Oliver’s neck. The pulse was barely there. How could she get him to wherever he was supposed to be when he could die any second?

She spotted the faint glimmer of a light. Someone who could help? A side kick? “Don’t move.” Felicity ran across the dance floor and towards a hallway. At the end of it, light bled through a closed door. Very stay-away-or-I’ll-murder-you looking. It had to be the lair, and if someone wasn’t down there, Oliver seemed like the kind of guy who would be prepared for disaster.

The door slid open when she pushed on it. Rickety stairs led down to the lair, she assumed. Careful not to make any noise in case she changed her mind, she descended the steps and peeked around the corner. A big man sat at the computers, watching news coverage of an attack at Queen Consolidated. Oliver’s mother was involved?

She…shot you?

 _Oliver’s dying up there, Felicity. Go._ She ran out, her heel scraping against the concrete floor. “Excuse me?” 

The man whipped around, his gun pointed at her heart.

Mr. Diggle? Of course. Why hadn’t she guessed that sooner? Of course the bodyguard hung out with the Hood. It made perfect sense now. And he was safe. She liked him. Even though he aimed a gun at her right now. But Oliver was dying. The chance of _her_ dying didn’t matter. “Can you help me? He’s _really_ heavy.”


End file.
